A Whiter Shade of Black
by sekdaniels
Summary: Narcissa Black Malfoy-centric collection of drabbles and one-offs This started out as a single story written for the QLFC 6 Daily Prophet #4 Challenge that is morphing into it's own thing. A nod to Procol Harum for the title and to my unexpected followers. I hope you will stay with me to see where this goes!


08/23/18 A Narcissa Black story written for the QLFC 6 can be found here:  s/12946422/6/For-the-Nonce-a-collection-of-shorts

Author's Note: Daily Prophet Challenge #4

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Auror

Prompts Used:

5 (genre) Hurt/ Comfort

10 (color) indigo

11 (word) accidental

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 1025

 **A/N:** Upon first glance, it seemed to me like the Chaser 1 position was in pickle. Almost everyone you meet was or eventually would become an Auror in Rowling's universe. So, where to find daylight for this challenge? Well, for me, it was in the last place you'd expect. Here in the States, things are so divisive for us because of clashing beliefs — much like it must have seemed for Harry & Co. But it's important to remember that even if we see the world differently, we _can_ and _should_ work together — and in so doing, maybe even make things better.

A few thoughts on what would happen if Narcissa Malfoy wasn't a fan of being an "empty nester" and decided to take on a career of her own.

 **Beta love:** Many thanks to Sehaine, and Story, Please for their help! Love you guys!

 **A Second Act**

The whole office was abuzz with it long before she arrived; rumor and speculation ruled the common spaces. Harry, of course, had heard it all — _or close enough_ — to know he would reserve his judgement. After all, he and Narcissa had history.

She arrived unannounced to the staff. Her tall, willowy form cut through the unusually quiet cubicle farm in the Auror's Department at the Ministry of Magic. Her heels, clacking loudly against the marble floors, echoed off the cavernous shell of the old building in to the sudden quiet that subsumed the whole of the division. Despite the blatant stares, Narcissa Malfoy kept her head held high and her eyes straight ahead. She engaged no one; she spoke to no one. Her very presence demanded respect.

 _As it always had_ , Harry thought to himself as he rose from behind his own desk and straightened his robes, unconsciously. He gave her wide berth before making his way down the same corridor towards Kingsley Shacklebolt's offices.

"Good. Timely, as always, Potter," the Minister greeted him, motioning to an empty chair before resuming his own. Harry approached the seat cautiously.

It had been a few years since the last time Harry Potter had laid eyes on Narcissa Malfoy. They traveled in very different circles. He imagined they always would until the rumor mill started to churn a few weeks back. Now, he was sitting a scant three feet from her. Life was strange.

"I must say, Narcissa," Kingsley dove into the conversation as if they were already in the midst of one, "I was pleasantly surprised to get your owl."

Harry thought he saw her flinch.

"I'm sure there was nothing _pleasant_ about it, Minister," she spoke, coolly. "Nevertheless, I appreciate that you did not dismiss me out of hand based on our — _history_ , shall we say?"

Harry found himself staring. Narcissa Malfoy had never been the stuff of nightmares; not when you considered her husband — or her _sister_ , for that matter. She had been more of a complacent co-conspirator. Harry never knew what she believed or what she didn't; only that she was complicit.

Until the day she defied the Dark Lord — and saved his life.

Being as close as he was, Harry could see that rather than black, Narcissa was draped head-to-toe in a deep, bluish velvet. It required intimacy to even notice the difference. It was dark like a night sky without stars. It was a very subtle yet definitive statement that she was her own woman. Deep and rich and powerful.

"Indigo." He hadn't meant to say it aloud. Narcissa's head snapped in his direction. Her eyes narrowed as she sized him up. _Indigo_ eyes. She smiled, ever so slightly, but said nothing directly to him. Rather, she turned back to the Minister.

"I've already laid out my position," she said, matter-of-factly.

Kingsley steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and leaned back in his chair. "You have," he said, "and I am honored that you would choose to share your talents with the Ministry—"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Kingsley," she interrupted. "I'm not here looking for absolution, nor is it accidental. I am here because I find it alarming that so few of the 'forgiven' followers of Voldemort have been welcomed into the Ministry you lead. Especially right here. In _your_ magical law enforcement division." She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her chin raised. Defiant.

"Surely, it will take some time to adjust..." Kingsley attempted to answer, but he was obviously stymied with embarrassment. There was no denying the clear division between the victors and the defeated.

"The way it did after the First Wizarding War?" she spit. "Let us not delay and defer until we make the same mistakes again, shall we? My husband is a broken shell; my home — empty. But my life need not be. There is work to be done to mend our wounds. Let us _do_ them. Together. That is all I have asked."

Harry stood, never taking his eyes off of his former enemy.

Ultimately, it was Harry who knew her mettle; he knew she could be trusted. She was no lightweight — she was fierce when it counted.

"I think I can take it from here, Minister — with your permission, of course." Harry offered the courtesy, but it was for show. They had worked this out in advance, and it was confirmed again by Shacklebolt's silent nod. Harry had lobbied for Narcissa; requested to be partnered with her. His superior never questioned him when Harry showed such veracity.

He stood and opened the door. He made no motion for her to follow him; she would, but neither of them would pretend he was leading.

"I have you to thank for this, I hear," she said as they made their way, side-by-side down the corridor.

"Not really," he replied. "I only did what was right."

He made quick turn after the first series of cubicles and opened a narrow, unassuming door. "It's not much," Harry said, moving toward the box on the desk. He picked it up in his arms. "I hope you don't mind."

Narcissa frowned. "I don't understand. This is _your_ office."

"Yes. Except now it is ours."

"But there's only one desk."

"I'm hardly ever here, as you can see." Harry nodded to the half-empty box he was carrying. He had few personal items to really mark the place as his own. "I only really need a drawer for files and some space for books." He paused, shifting the weight of the box. "You are welcome to it."

"But...why?"

"Just your _arrival_ was a distraction. How do you think that would work if we sat you in the cube farm with the rest of the trainees?" Harry raised an eyebrow and waited for her to put the pieces together. It didn't take long. He watched as she eyed the office again, this time more thoughtfully.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She had turned away from him, but he could see her profile. She had not expected his kindness.

"No," he answered. "Thank _you_."


End file.
